to the nights we felt alive
by mellieforyellie
Summary: Their relationship is purely ordinary, too-much and not-enough all combined into one. — hunaus ; pruhun ; ausswitz.


**disclaimer: nope.  
><span>request:<span> I want to see a relationship that is far from perfect, maybe even slightly unhealthy, but persisting against all odds. Both partners are aware of problems in their relationship and actively try to solve them.  
><span>notes1:<span> i didn't quite follow the request as closely as i had planned to, but whatever.  
><span>notes2:<span> and i totally got this idea from the "open-relationship" episode of House i saw earlier today.  
><span>summary:<span> Their relationship is purely ordinary, too-much and not-enough all combined into one.  
><span>pairings:<span> main hungary/austria; side hungary/prussia, austria/switzerland.**

* * *

><p>Their relationship is purely ordinary.<p>

They sleep in the same bed, huddled on either side, never touching one another. If they are cold, they simply put on another blanket, or warmer clothes.

They get up at seven a.m. every day, and silently dress with their backs to each other. He always allows her out the bedroom door (_ladies__' __first_, his mind always tells him) and she makes breakfast while he warms up at the piano.

It is the same everyday — a dainty cup of tea, a large bowl of _müsli_, one roll of bread for each of them, and two small links of _kolbász_. They eat in silence, neither needing to fill the room with pointless conversation. Instead, they make melodies of small sips and clinking silverware.

Then, it is eight a.m., and it is time for work.

He wanders off to his study to sign papers and to manage both of their countries, and even though she knows she could handle herself, she has no choice but to allow him to control the lives of _her_ citizens. She does what a proper housewife should, and cleans the house, always in the same order. She washes the dishes from breakfast, then does the laundry (more then often, it's usually just the sheets they had slept on that night). She hangs them out to dry, then begins to work on their next meal.

At exactly twelve p.m., he sits at the table and she brings out lunch: a cup of tea, a plate of _jause_, and a bowl of _halászlé_. There is always an unspoken agreement to eat her dish first, and she smiles at this. This meal, they savor, eating slowly and letting themselves become ridiculously full, as they do every day. They stand up at the same time and meet at the side of the table.

They kiss, his fingers tilting her head just _so_ slightly, her fingers smoothing themselves over one of the buttons on his overcoat. For him, it is amazing, it is earth shattering, and it is all too much at one time. For her, it is routine, it is simple, and it is entirely not enough.

It is one p.m. when they finish, and as he begins to play his beautiful, beautiful music she continues her chores. The laundry is brought in and put away, the floors are swept and mopped nicely, and the kitchen counters are cleaned from the mess of the day.

At five p.m., before she is about to prepare dinner, she hears the doorbell ring. She answers it with a smile and a "Hello, Vash, it's nice to see you" and shows him to the piano room.

She almost curses as she reaches the kitchen once more, because she almost forgot it was Thursday and almost didn't make dinner for three. But she fixes her preparations and begins cooking.

When the grandfather clock tolls seven p.m., she serves dinner to them, who are already at the table. It starts with beer for the men, tea for her, a plate of _disznósajt_, and a smaller plate of _kasnudeln_ with a salad on the side. The room is filled with the sounds of satisfied chewing and silverware clinking, though it seems almost obnoxious now, with someone different in the room, someone who doesn't connect to their musical wavelengths.

"Is this the cheap cheese?" Vash asks, eyeing her and picking at his salad.

He answers for her. "I told her to, _nörgler_, just for you. You say it tastes better, don't you?" Him and Vash glare at each other for a moment, before he turns and smiles at her, and, well, she thinks that's just cute.

(Because really, it's not cheap at all, she knows he just loves teasing Vash, always-_always-__always_.)

And now it is eight p.m., and the men go to retire in his private room, as she cleans up once more.

* * *

><p>She pulls on her overcoat and her boots, leaving a small tray of <em>dobos<em> out for them, just in case they get hungry. She travels into the woods, where Gilbert is waiting for her, just at the edge of the vineyard, like always. Gilbert smirks at her and grabs at her immediately, and she can't help but sigh into that devilish mouth.

Although she thinks it's hypocritical that him and Vash get a nice, warm bed and she has to come fool around in the cold, she also knows it is how it should be, if she is to be a proper wife.

And then, she doesn't care, because she likes the danger, the sudden jolt that open flesh exposed to air gives, that thrill of possibly getting caught. And _oh__God_, Gilbert is everything she wants, lust and warmth and _excitement_ all bundled up into one, almost perfect person.

But Gilbert could never give her that stability she needs not to go completely insane — that's something only _he_ can do, and so she settles for these meager Thursday nights.

"_Ich__ liebe__ dich_," Gilbert whispers against her shoulder.

She bites her lip in guilt, because while Gilbert is almost-perfect, she had promised herself she would never say it unless she means it, and murmurs instead, "_Találkozunk_." She doesn't look back, because she doesn't think she could stand the expression on his face.

* * *

><p>He pulls Vash into his room and begins to slowly undress. Vash knows the schedule, and lets him remove the army uniform.<p>

Vash is everything he could want, someone who will let him control, who will let him go at his own pace, who won't budge him to go faster when his hands shake as he unbuttons the pants. Vash is his control, the thing that makes sure he won't snap.

He needs this, and as much as he hate-_hate-__hates_ to hurt her like this, he knows that she is off somewhere, seeking out her own fantasies. It almost hurts him to know that he can't give her want she wants, either, but tries not to let him bother him when he has Vash right _there_, ready for him to do his bidding.

He kisses Vash with slow, tentative movements, and Vash does nothing but slightly kiss back. Vash will moan when directed, when it is allowed; Vash will only release when he orders it.

He desperately craves control, and this is something only Vash can give him — never can she give him this, with her crazy emotions and wishy-washy beliefs. But he loves her so much, because despite that, she brings excitement to his otherwise mundane life.

But she is too much, sometimes, when she kisses him back too hard, or tries to undress him too quickly — he can't take that, and so then he goes to Vash.

When he is finished, he escorts Vash to the front door, and allows Vash to take the tray of sweets that she always leaves for him (why is she so thoughtful, so almost-almost perfect?) home to Lietchenstein. Vash thanks him by one, small kiss and leaves.

* * *

><p>The clock strikes 12 a.m., and they are changing into their nightwear with their backs to one another, and they are both filthy with the smell of sweat and sex on them.<p>

They turn to each other, and kiss each other, before murmuring,

"Goodnight, my love."


End file.
